tremendous appetites.

Dave was beginning to grow sleepy when he heard a movement outside, and a
moment later Sam Barringford came into view, with downcast face and with
the water dripping from his coonskin cap and hunting shirt.

"Sam!" cried James Morris, leaping up. "So you've got back at last. Did you
get the buffalo? Where is Henry?"

"No, we didn't get the buffalo," answered the old frontiersman. His voice
grew husky. "Henry--he is--missing--he dropped over a cliff--" He could not
go on.

"Over a cliff!" gasped Dave. "You don't mean he is--is--" He too failed to
finish what was in his mind.

"I can't tell you what happened after he slipped from my sight," went on
Barringford.

"Oh, Sam, do you mean to say he is killed?"

"I hope not, lad. But it looks juberous, no two ways on't."

"Tell me how it happened," said James Morris, and now all in the camp
gathered around to hear what the old frontiersman had to say.

The ice once broken, Barringford's tongue grew more talkative, and he
related all the particulars so far as he knew them.

"When I worked my way down into the waterway I felt sartin I would find